#three bees reading

[heresathreebee]

This is so gotdamn cute holy crap! I know the stress of not being able to get a baby to stop crying, you feel so bad for them but you're also close to ripping your hair out 🥰 also EXCELLENT SONG CHOICE, VERY STEVE

“what? hello?” steve mumbled sleepily into the phone.

“i’m going insane,” eddie nearly shouts.

steve sits up in his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. “woah woah, eds, what’s goin on?”

a high pitched wail is heard in the background and eddie is immediately cooing and shushing. steve presses the phone tighter to his ear.

“eds. eds, can you hear me?”

“i’m going insane i’m going insane i’m going insane,” eddie breathes. “she won’t stop crying steve she’s been crying for two hours—fuck, three hours. i don’t know what to do. i don’t know what to do steve.”

“who’s crying?” steve asks.

“my cousin. or my niece, maybe? i don’t know how it works. my cousin’s baby is here and she won’t stop crying.”

more crying and wailing is heard. steve has to hold the phone away from his ear when eddie gets closer to her. he can hear eddie pleading with her, trying to comfort her, to no avail.

“i need help,” eddie says. “i need help, please.”

“uh, okay. okay,” steve replies as he rolls out of bed and stumbles around his room in the dark to find some pants and shoes. “i can be there in ten.”

“make it five,” eddie nearly whines, anxiety pouring through the receiver.

“got it.”

steve’s tires screech into eddie’s driveway. his trailer is the only one with the lights still on and he could hear the baby crying from outside. he’s surprised no one has called to complain to the police station. though he’s sure callahan or hopper would simply hang up.

steve barrels up the steps and opens the door to utter chaos. toys and books scatter the ground, there are blankets and bottles strewn over surfaces (some definitely knocked over and spilling onto the floor), and baby clothes and diapers in the leftover spaces. and of course, a screaming infant.

eddie pops out of his room with said infant trashing in his arms. eddie has tears streaming down his fact too and steve’s heart just cracks.

“help me,” eddie mouths.

“uh, okay, okay,” steve is wracking his brain for any tips he learned in home economics about taking care of a baby. “what have you tried? i presume she’s in a clean diaper and…” god it was hard to think with the noise screeching in his ears. “fed her?” steve asks louder.

“yes fuck, i keep changing her and trying to feed her. i read her stories and rocked her and tried to put her in her crib. she’s so upset i don’t know why,” eddie’s voice cracks on the last word and suddenly, steve’s across the room. ready to comfort him.

“give her here,” steve says.

eddie’s eyes are panicky and wide but eventually, he hands steve the child. she continues to cry and thrash in steve’s arms so it takes a second for him to hold her properly.

“what’s her name?” steve asks.

“cheyenne” eddie responds, arms wrapped around himself like a hug. his whole body is bouncing and steve feels the urge to reach out and bring him in too but the more pressing matter is currently occupying those arms.

“hi cheyenne,” steve says gently. “seems like you’re mighty upset.”

she yanks at steve’s shirt with her little baby fists, definitely grabbing some chest hair underneath and ripping it. steve winces but recovers quickly.

“would your neighbors kill me if i take her outside?”

“probably,” eddie mutters.

“i’m going to anyway.”

steve heads for the front door and eddie goes to follow him but steve holds out a patient hand. “stay here, take a breath,” steve instructs.

eddie’s eyes well up with more tears. “but what if something—“

“then we’ll do something. right now, being around her isn’t good for you. let me take a crack at this, alright?”

eddie nods solemnly and backs away so steve can open the door.

cheyenne’s cries echo out into the night sky as steve starts to pace around the porch. steve starts to feel a little scared being alone with her but he’s more scared of what the stress has done to eddie.

so he decides to do it scared.

the baby starts to have this hiccuping breaths that pull steve out of his thought spiral. steve shushes her and props her up so her head is on his shoulder. he rubs her back with his hand, which takes up her entire back, and tries to stay calm when her cries are right next to his ear.

“you like music? 'course you do, everyone does.i don’t know how many lullabies eddie knows. his taste is a little more intense,” steve says conversationally as he continues to pace. “i don’t even think i know any lullabies. um…”

cheyenne cries with new fervor right into his neck and steve just panic sings the first song that comes to mind, “shake it up is all we know. using bodies up as we go. i’m waking up a fantasy. the shades are all the colors we used to see.”

cheyenne’s cries go down a peg, still loud but less wailing and more whimpering. steve’s heart is racing as he slowly continues the song.

“broken ice still melts in the sun. and ties that are broken can be one again. we’re soul alone and soul really matters to me.”

cheyenne keeps crying but it's getting softer by the second. steve rearranges her so she's cradled in his arms. he's blown away by how small she is. how helpless. everything must be so scary for her.

“i'm out of touch,” steve sings softly. “you're out of time. but i'm out of my head when you're not around. oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh.“

cheyenne's eyes open up and they're this big beautiful brown, just like eddie's. his breath is taken away as he keeps singing weakly. he doesn't even realize that she stops crying entirely and is just blinking at him, dazed.

it takes eddie slowly opening the front door for him to recognize the silence. he sits on the couch and bounces her gently in his arms, still humming and singing the occasional "oh's". eddie very slowly and quietly sits beside him.

steve looks up at eddie who is staring at him in awe. the same beautiful brown eyes are puffy and swollen, just like cheyenne's.

“c'mon eds, sing it with me,” steve jokes quietly.

eddie shakes his head. “i can't believe she's a hall and oates fan.”

“everyone is,” steve says simply and sings, “i'm out of touch.” he gestures to eddie to continue.

“i'm out of time,” eddie sings, looking incredibly pained to do so.

“but i'm out of my head,” steve leans his ear to the side.

“when you're not around,” eddie says flat, voice raspy from his exhaustion. it makes steve's stomach flip so he returns his attention to the near asleep girl in his arms.

they keep humming until she's fully asleep. steve leans back into the couch with a long exhale, his shoulders rubbing up against eddie's.

“you're magical,” eddie whispers.

“please,” steve scoffs.

“i'm serious,” eddie replies. steve turns his head to face him and nearly chokes from how close their faces are.

”i don't know how you do it,“ eddie mumbles.

”do what?“

”make everyone around you so calm. i feel like all i can do is make everyone stressed out,” eddie laughs weakly.

steve shakes his head. ”not true. just ask buckley, i stress her out on a daily basis.“

eddie chuckles and sniffles. steve sees his lips stretch over his teeth in a smile.

”thank you for coming over. i didn't know who else to call.“

”how did you end up with your baby cousin anyway?“ steve asks.

eddie sighs, tilting his head back into the cushion. if he leaned his head closer, he'd be on steve's shoulder. steve wishes he would.

”her mom is taking a much needed vacation and i promised wayne that he didn't need to take time off work to take care of her. that was a huge mistake.“

”you did your best,“ steve argues quietly.

”maybe but it wasn't enough.“

”hey, c'mon. don't beat yourself up. you did what you could and found help when you couldn't. it's not your fault this is her only form of communication.“

eddie smiles again and yawns. ”you wouldn't happen to have this album on cassette would you?“

steve beams at him. ”in my car, actually.“

”i'm getting it.“

they put cheyenne to bed with the big bam boom album playing softly on eddie's stereo. they stare at her peaceful form snoozing away and seem to forget how she looked not even a half hour ago.

”you should get some sleep,” steve whispers, nudging eddie with his shoulder.

“you're right, you're right,” eddie sighs. he gestures that he's gonna walk steve to the door. steve grabs his keys and turns before opening the door.

“thank you again,” eddie whispers.

“anytime. hall and oates always heals,” steve smiles.

eddie rolls his eyes fondly and shoves steve's shoulder. only, his hand doesn't move away. it splays out over steve's beating heart which is rapidly picking up speed. eddie's eyes slowly drift up to catch steve's.

“i was listening to that song yesterday,” steve whispers. “over and over and over again.”

“you must really like it,“ eddie says, a little confused.

”no. i mean, i do but…“ steve whispers. ”i was listening to it because... i start to go a little insane when i'm not around you.“

eddie's brows furrow. ”w-what do you mean?“

”can't keep you out of here,“ steve explains, tapping his temple. ”i don't know what to do. this is where i need help, eds.”

eddie's lips part in a silent gasp. he takes a step closer and rubs his thumb over steve's shirt. steve's hand comes up and covers his.

“i can help,” eddie whispers, tilting his head up so their noses brush.

that's how steve and eddie share their first kiss in eddie's living room, sleep deprived and unhurried. just four lips gently sliding over one another.

when they pull away with tired smiles, eddie murmurs, “in case she wakes up, you should probably sleep over.”

(inspired by @gothbat99 's wonderful steve harrington playlist)

[giftplane]

[ Have you figured it out yet? ]

more family bonds fanart who would have guessed

[housederiva]

One of the biggest question left.. how is Varric the narrator of the story…

Ah because he’s in Rook’s mind palace and we’re playing from their point of view. Once the illusion is shattered the next narration is voiced by Elgar’nan (I think I remembering that right, it’s 3am when I’m answering this) Rook (yes I was remembering it wrong)

[joy-girl]

Naruto 420 // Jinchūriki

[heresathreebee]

Oh god, Eddie just trynna be a great friend 🤤

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: eddie's got a late night bone to pick with you; only one minor sexual inconvenience in the way, but that doesn't stop you from picking up his call and eddie doesn't want to hang up either.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), virgin!reader, phone sex, mutual masturbation, really talkative reader & eddie (these two never shut up), lots of dirty talk, small innocence!kink, mentions to reader's body (only compliments, no descriptions), if i missed anything pls let me know.

word count: 3.4k — part two, part three

The deep coiling heat undulated through your entire body, fingers curling inside you at an angle that wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. That dull ache digging at you, like an annoying itch you couldn’t scratch. It felt close, yet so far of that you couldn’t even reach it. You sighed harshly, eyes drifting close in hopes that maybe it would help—anything, just some peace and quiet, forcing your mind to focus on the feeling of your body and nothing else, finger dipping into your the slick wetness of your cunt, dragging up slowly toward your clit—yes, that helped. You breathed deep, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, that familiar tinge of want and pleasure radiating throughout your entire body, building, and building—-

The bloodcurdling ring of your phone cuts through the air, nestled in the corner of your bedside table. You’ve never wanted to smash something into pieces so much in your entire life.

Who the fuck could be calling at this time of night?

You yank the phone from its resting place, cord wrapping around your wrist in the process, but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it. You lean over the bed slightly, settled onto your side, before answer with a very clipped:

“What?”

“Who pissed you off, princess?” Eddie fucking Munson.

It never failed.

“If you keep talking, it’s going to be you.” You retort, still mildly aware of the hand tucked between your legs, not touching anymore, but hovering, waiting for this painful phone call to end.

“Harsh.” Eddie replies, feigning a weak implication of hurt in his tone. “I just wanted to let you know that you grabbed my dice by mistake after the campaign tonight.”

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes closed, tapping the speaker of the phone against your head in frustration. You had been so quick to rush out of there today, you didn’t even think, blindly grabbing your shit and hightailing it home.

“And I hate to make a big deal about it, but those are my lucky dice.” He points out. You can’t help the eye roll that escapes you, Eddie could practically hear it through the phone.

“And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” You ask impatiently. The man was wasting precious time, time that you would be spending doing something much more enjoyable. “I’m busy.”

It comes out, a Freudian slip. You could’ve just assure him you’d bring them in the morning and the conversation would be null and void, but no; now Eddie was intrigued.

“Busy? It’s midnight—what the hell could you be busy with right now?” He asks, attempting to compile a list of reasons but coming up with a big fat goose egg.

“Sleeping, Eddie.” You deadpan.

“You don’t sound like it.” Eddie says honestly. “Wait, were you—“

“Eddie!” You yell, a desperate attempt to stop where this conversation was headed—but Eddie, ever the persistent.

“Ha!” He laughs, seemingly clapping his hands together over the phone, “I knew you weren’t so innocent—all that bullshit about never being kissed and—“

“Ed-die,” You stress, begging him to tone down the teasing. It wasn’t that you felt ashamed, everything you’d told him was true. You hadn’t explored much outside of yourself—you know your body best and that was all that mattered. Why did you even need the help?

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes sincerely, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, really. If I had known, I would’ve just waited until tomorrow.”

“There’s no way you could’ve, dipshit.” Eddie snorts at the nickname, savoring the bite in your tone. “Besides, it helps me sleep.”

“Shit, me too.” He laughs softly and you can’t help but laugh either, though it only lasts a few seconds before you’re mentally shoving your hand over your mouth, begging your brain to process shit before it comes out of your mouth. “It’s not that easy, is it? Trying to concentrate and everything.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, wondering why he hadn’t just hung up the phone. But, he continues; you can’t help but listen.

“Not when I have meatheads like you bothering me,” You snark, the dull ache in your cunt still hadn’t settled, and you really hated yourself for your next move, but it was necessary.

Your finger rubs over your clit gently, slow enough that you can keep your composure, but allow just enough relief that it wasn’t bothering you as much.

“Not a meathead—That’s reserved for Jason and his band of assholes.” You could appreciate his mutual distaste, feeling bad for stacking him in with them.

“Sorry.” You meant it.

“It’s fine, princess.”

You’re so used to the term that it really shouldn’t bother you, it hardly ever does, but with your hands down your underwear, attempting to work yourself through a desperately needed orgasm, you couldn’t help but play it in your head, the sound of his voice, like a tape on repeat.

And this felt so wrong, but Eddie noticed your prolonged silence. He leans into it, nudging you further.

“Do you need help?” He asks innocently, his voice remaining it’s normal bravado, but you can feel the anticipation in the way he waits for your answer.

“With touching myself?” You ask boldly; what a night this was turning into. “I think I’m good on that.”

“No with, you know, getting there.” He says coyly and you can hear the should shrug through the phone, the way his head tilts to the side innocently. “I can help, if you want.”

“You wanna help me orgasm?” You ask, still gathering what little sanity you had left for the night. “Over the phone?”

“Sure,” He says easily. This didn’t feel real and maybe you were having some fucked up dream you’d wake up from any moment; another weird sex dream, albeit almost always involving your one particular friend, who just so happened to be on the other line offering up his services, selflessly, “but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

And why wouldn’t you be? Aside from the potential awkwardness of having to face Eddie at school after this, it didn’t seem like a terrible idea—and Eddie was never the type to shove a situation like this back in your face, he knew your boundaries. Plus, you’d kill him if he ever did.

“Okay,” You agree, voice hesitant. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Shit, okay.” He answers, half-expecting you to back out.

You doubled down, “I don’t have a lot of time, so make it quick.”

Quick. Eddie could do quick—except he’s never done this before and has no idea what to say or do, he was going in blind.

“Uh, well,” He laughs at the absurdity of the upcoming question, “what are you wearing?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, glancing over the outfit you were wearing. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” He answers truthfully, “if it helps, I’m only in my boxerw—you know those ones you like to make fun of, they’re got the bats all over them.”

You laugh at the memory, Eddie bent over in front of you during Hellfire a few months back, moving some of the boxes full of theatre costumes since the group was forced to share a room and the other kids refused to put their stuff away properly. “How cute.” You'd told him and Eddie’s face burned a deep shade of red. He didn’t say anything, only pulling his pants up higher.

It was an interesting visual, you couldn’t lie. “Uh, I’m in my underwear, too—and a, uh, shirt.”

“Which one?” He asks curiously.

“Um, Hellfire, that black one. I think it's yours, actually.” Somehow that felt like the most scandalous part about all of this, being coached through your orgasm by not only your resident dungeon master, but someone who you consider a friend, “It’s nothing crazy, sorry.”

“No, no,” Eddie interrupts quickly, “That’s fine—are you—are you touching yourself, right now?”

Eddie’s free hand is resting over his boxers, palming at his growing bulge, not as satisfying as he wants it to be.

“Yeah,” You nod without thinking, feeling ridiculous after the fact, “For a while now.”

That slow, tantalizing pace you had on your clit wasn’t helping. You clear your throat, pressing harder. “You can touch yourself, too—if you want, I mean. I won’t mind.” Your face is hot with embarrassment, but it didn’t feel fair; he should be able to enjoy it too.

Eddie can feel his dick twitch against his hand, the idea of you having already been touching yourself before he even suggested anything; not that he had planned any of this, it was completely spur of the moment, but he couldn’t help himself now. “I am,” He replies after a beat, “I’m just touching myself over my boxers—kinda sucks, though.”

“Oh,” Your voice lilts, feeling that small tinge in your gut at the sight of Eddie holding his dick in his hands—you’ve never seen it before, nothing to compare it to or imagine, but still; you were picturing it, “Well, maybe you should actually touch yourself, you know? It only seems fair.”

Eddie exhales slowly, fingers shoving under the waistband of his boxers, taking hold of himself—it’s the first time he’s touched himself all week and he was in over his head, this was a terrible idea.

“God,” He sighs, falling back against his pillow, phone tucked firmly between his shoulder and ear, tugging gently at his shaft, “do you—you have anything you think about?”

“Not really,” You lie, “I just kinda—do it.” You lie again.

Eddie laughs softly, the soft sounds of his creaking bed frame were faint, but you could still hear them. It was the only thing you could think about; Eddie spread out, hands down the front of his boxers, tugging at his dick like his life depended on it.

You circle your clit absently, finger sliding down to dip inside of you. You mewl softly, letting the sound pass through your lips.

“What about you, Eddie?” And it shocks you, realizing it’s the first time you’ve said his name since you’ve started this dangerous back and forth. It comes out broken, wrapped snugly in that blissful pleasure you were trying to reach and Eddie hears it—the curse under his breath a telltale sign that he was just as wound up as you.

“Got a lot, too much to describe—never as good as the real thing, you know,” Eddie says absently, his hand an insistent tug at his cock, swelling to full hardness in his hands. He wipes the pad of his thumb over the slit, the small bit of precum helping ease the slide down, “there’s so much you’re missing out on, princess.”

Your virginity was never a main topic of conversation and Eddie didn’t make it a big deal either, but he knows how inexperienced you are outside of your own body; he wants you to enjoy it, wants you to experience how good it can feel.

“Wanna tell me about it?” You ask innocently, the pitch of your voice picking up on a certain stroke of your finger, palm dragging against your clit.

“I can’t speak for women, but for men—it’s pretty fucking good,” He starts, occasional gasps peaking through his voice, “it’s warm and wet and really tight, sometimes when they squeeze down on us—uh, it’s good. So fucking good.” Eddie tries not to sound too crass or dirty, afraid it might scare you away.

You laugh softly, his unique way of describing things never fails to surprise you, “What’s your favorite? You like when—when girls go down on you?” It’s really just curiosity, your mind racing through a million different thoughts.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle, stopping to—what you could only guess—spit on his hand, and that had you clenching around your own fingers. It felt primal, in a way. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But I, uh, like going down on a girl more—I got off once to it.”

And it shouldn't turn you on as much as it did, but goddamn if you weren't interested in hearing all about that. All common sense out of the window, you ask, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice still unnaturally calm, “I was younger, but it was nice—she made all these noises, pulled my hair too hard—I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did, but then she came while I still going down on her and it just happened.”

You sigh softly, “I’ve always wondered what it felt like,” You admit openly, “something other than my hand, it’s gotta be good, right?”

“You’ve really never done anything?” Eddie asks hesitantly—it didn’t feel judgmental, Eddie was curious; half leaning toward delirious from his sleep-deprived state.

“Never even kissed anyone, Eddie.” You say regretfully, hand stopping for a moment. “But, I’m not clueless—I’ve just never had any first hand experience.

There was a long pause, your breath catching in your throat. You can hear him on the other line, but it’s muffled. “Eddie?” You ask quietly, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He sounds a little breathless, “I was getting ahead of myself, had to slow down a bit—“

“Oh.” It’s small, feeble in the way you answer him.

“You still touching yourself?”

You nod again, feeling ridiculous. “Yeah—I am. I can’t focus, though—that’s been my problem all night.”

A problem that Eddie had just the remedy for.

“Do you trust me?” He asks and your answer is instant, not a single worry in your mind.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Close your eyes,” You take a small breath, letting your eyelids fall shut, “Tell me what feels the best.”

You breathe, allowing the fear of embarrassment shed from your body, losing yourself in the conversation fully. “Uh, fingers help a little—but, this is hard to do with one hand, I usually have two, that way I can cover all my bases.”

Eddie snorts at that, a smile spread across his face. “Just squeeze the phone against your shoulder,” You quickly maneuver it, shoved properly up by your ear, allowing your other hand to reach down and touch your clit properly, fingers an inconsistent rhythm as they pump into you, still, you can’t stifle the needy moan that slips out.

“Okay,” You sound shaky, “That’s—that’s a lot better.”

You feel like it’s going to be too bold of a question and Eddie would run away immediately, but you’re too fucking curious not to ask, since he was literally jerking off on the other end—it seemed like a perfectly fair question to ask.

“Do you—What do girls usually say about—you?” It was the worst way to approach the question, but Eddie isn’t too bad at realizing the context.

“Are you asking what my dick looks like?”

He couldn’t believe this shit was happening.

“Yeah, maybe.” You answer sheepishly, “Like I said, nothing to compare.”

Eddie grins, eyes scanning over his own dick briefly.

“Uh, it’s about eight inches, give or take.” He offers, “You could definitely fit both of your hands around it, if you tried.”

There’s a beat of silence, Eddie feeling like he fucked up—it slipped out, it wasn’t a suggestion; not the he didn’t want your hands around his dick, he’d be lying if he said that out loud.

You give a small noise of acknowledgment, feeling the heat coil in your stomach—surely you weren’t thinking about Eddie’s dick. But, of course you were. “Maybe we’ll have to try that out.” You say boldly, hoping that it would elicit some type of reaction from him.

“Fuck,” It definitely worked, “Yeah—yeah, maybe we could—I could even—even, go down on you, if you wanted.” He's too worked up, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

“Yeah?” You breath, followed by a small moan from the drag of your slick covered finger over your sensitive clit, rubbing the small bundle of nerves impatiently. “Think I could make you come?”

“With those pretty little noises?” Eddie asks redundantly, “I’m a fucking goner.”

You laugh softly, choked out by the sound of your own desperate noises, the pace on your clit picking up, fingers moving on their own accord. You can’t even focus on the fingers inside of you anymore, moving a free hand toward your breasts, still slicked fingers catching against the soft bud of your nipple.

Eddie strokes himself faster, recklessly almost. He groans so loudly into the speaker that you almost lose it, phone slipping away from your ear.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Eddie asks, hazy from the grip he had at the base of his dick, desperate to keep from coming. His entire shtick was to help you, not himself; but he was failing miserably.

“Sorry, I almost dropped the phone.”

“Oh.” He’s being cheeky, you can hear it in his voice.

“Shut up,” You exhale, returning yourself to the task at hand; regardless of Eddie’s smugness. “Thought you were supposed to make me come, not tease me all night.”

“Help you,” He corrects, “Not make you—though, I mean—that’s not totally off the table.”

“Eddie.” You warn.

“Right—I guess it’s not hard for me,” Eddie starts again, voice thick with want and tension, “All I have to do is think about you with your hands between your legs and those tits—god, they’re probably perfect, I haven’t seen them, but I know. I know.”

It was like he’d dialed everything up to ten, not bothering to hold back any longer, the pleasure taking away any filter he had.

He was thinking about you, of course—it made sense, but it didn’t snuff the pulse that grew between your legs, only making it much, much worse. Whatever line was drawn was crossed the moment you agreed to this, all bets were off.

“Wish it was your hands instead,” You respond wantonly, the pad of your finger rubbing quick, small circles against your clit, “they’re so much bigger than mine.”

You gasp, gripping desperately at the sheets beneath you, no doubt having soaked through the cover already from how wet you were, it was unlike anything you’ve felt before—it was better.

“Forget my hands—can’t get the sight of you sinking down onto my dick out of my head,” He admits earnestly, groaning through the quick tugs on his shaft, his tip leaking with a copious amount of precum, bring his hand back down to squeeze at the base. Eddie has never edged himself like this before, it was almost painful. Almost.

“I don’t think it’ll fit, Eddie.” The moan he lets out is loud, guttural—the sound of skin against skin louder than ever through the speaker, he’s close. “Is that what you want? To be my first?”

“Fuckfuck—yeah, I do.”

You can’t even think anymore, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Want you to ruin me, Eddie.”

He’s past the point of trying to keep himself quiet, openly moaning through the receiver, “Fuck—say my name again, please.”

And you do; again and again, your cunt spasming underneath your hand, reaching the precipice of what you had been dying for all night, his name a plea as it cut off into a desperate moan.

“Shit—I’m so close—.” Eddie growls lowly, his high hitting him almost immediately after, coming all over his chest and his sheets in shirt spurts, tugging harshly at his dick.

He’s never come so hard in his life.

“You’ve gotten a fucking mouth on you.” He says breathlessly, on the way down from his orgasm. “Would’ve never guessed.”

You smile warmly, hand slipping out of your underwear to rest against your stomach.

“You tell anyone and you’re dead,” You chide playfully, the beautiful feeling of sleep creeping up on you, “but thank you, Eddie, seriously.”

“Always at your service, princess.”

You laugh through your nose, the realization of your actions finally settling in. It didn’t feel wrong, but it didn’t feel right, either—though, you couldn’t be bothered to care now; all bets were off.

“I’m holding you to that, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs on the other end, unbeknownst to you. He wiped at the mess he’d made with his shirt, tossing it to the floor lazily. “So, not a one time thing then?” He asks hopefully.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

A pause, Eddie clears his throat.

"I still want my dice, by the way."

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

For the character asks, Blanche. Questions 8, 10 & 12 😊

hiii friend!! thank you for the questions!! <3

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Oh wow. This is a dangerous question, haha!

‘Despise' is a pretty strong word. I feel like the one thing I really can't stand is character assassination (although this is true for every character I like, to be honest). I'm not the authority on what makes Blanche Blanche, of course, but I have seen a few instances when it felt like people only saw the superficial parts of her and forgot about everything else, you know what I mean? Thankfully that's pretty rare around these parts though :)

There's one thing that's more specifically Blanche-related that's a pet-peeve of mine, and it’s the accent thing. I don't really like it when accents are explicitly written down in fanfic, and since Blanche is the one with the strongest accent in the cast, this happens to her sometimes. I just want to point out that this is not wrong per se, it's just a me thing! I prefer to 'hear’ the accent in my mind while I read — if I have to stop and parse the meaning of a sentence mid-action, it's harder for me to fully immerse myself in the story. I don't mind the occasional truncation of a 'g' at the end of a verb, or the odd 'y'all' in a phrase, but if every sentence is written like that it does get a bit hard for me 😅 once again though, this is just my personal preference, and I definitely don't despise the practice.

10. Could you be best friends with this character?

I'm actually not sure how to answer this! If we didn't know each other at all, I think we'd need to be in a situation where we have to spend some time together in order to become friends (like, idk, working together or something like that). We don't share lots of interests (appreciation for art aside), and her passion for men would definitely throw me off at the beginning, so I'd need a reason to spend time with her to get to know her! But we are more similar than we seem, so once I did get to know her better, I'd love to be her friend :) we'd probably drive each other crazy on some things, but I need someone to get me out of my comfort zone at times, and she'd probably benefit from having a more 'grounded' friend, in the same way she benefits from having Dorothy as a friend.

... of course, this is all assuming that she'd want to be my friend in the first place, which is not a given 😂 I'm probably not interesting or fun enough to convince her to give me a chance, but a gal can dream, you know?

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Just one? :')

I've said it before on here, but I headcanon that she's a cover hog. It just makes sense to me! And, still related to sleep, I feel like this is basically canon, but she's a night owl. She's more active during the night, she sleeps in, and it takes her a while to wake up in the mornings.

She actually is knowledgeable about art -- but not necessarily about artists! I think she likely doesn't have a lot of formal education about art (and especially art history), and even if she did study anything related to it she doesn't strike me as an exceptional student overall, but she has a natural instinct for visual beauty -- she's great at things like recognizing which paintings were made with similar techniques or within the same artistic current, distinguishing the traits and characteristics of painters, identifying specific shades of colour, this kind of stuff. Show her a painting and she'll correctly tell you that it's a Van Gogh, how he painted it, the precise shades of colour he chose and why he chose them -- but she also doesn't know that he cut off his ear, you know?

She was a bit of a reckless driver, especially in her youth -- the kind who likes to hit the gas just a tad too much, who plays the music just a tad too loud. She likes acting larger than life, she likes having fun, and she likes attention, so this feels appropriate for her. I figure it probably wasn't noticeable because she rarely drove herself (she always had a gentleman at her side to drive her around), but she never really grew out of that particular trait -- until George's death. After that, I think any imprudence behind the wheel would evoke his accident in her mind, so by the time the Girls met her she had turned into a very conscientious driver.

Thank you, these were so much fun to answer!! I love love love talking about Blanche <3

[CHARA CTER ASK GAME!!! 💫]

[suguwu]

okay the rice cooker post going around made me remember i want to ask for one for the holidays so who has a rice cooker they swear by

[whumble-beeee]

Hey y'all, sorry I haven't been keeping up with the blog or (un)official guide as much as usual. Whumptober is taking up a good amount of my time, plus school and midterms are taking up even MORE of my time. I'm trying my best to keep up bc I DO very much love writing, but sadly I am also falling behind where I want to be with it, in addition to just not being on here very often because, again, busy.

Just a lil update from the Bee, I'm doing great, just busy :) I'll continue keeping up the blog to the best of my ability (and probably reblog more bc I love finding new whump shit) and things will probably go more or less back to normal at the end of October.

Anyway, love y'all, your support means everything to me <3

(Oh, and also for the (un)Official Guide peeps, instead of uploading a chapter in the coming days like I usually would, I'm just going to create a link list of all the (un)official guide whumptober stories and art I've made so far and link everyone in that. So stay tuned for that or just check out my whumptober masterlist lol)

[bragganhyl]

also my boy is about to lose an eye wish him luck

[rughydrangea]

This must be what it feels like to be dying, he thinks; the world remains around you, like a lover who does not want to hurt you by leaving, but in spirit it's already gone, taking with it the meaning of everything you shared. In truth it is already transforming into a future you will never be part of; and you realize only then that it has been transforming all of this time, throughout your whole life, and you with it; and that, in fact, is life, though you never knew, and now it is over.

Paul Murray, The Bee Sting

[beebeetheclown]

Sun tanning in my backyard and eating a popsicle while thinking about Jeremy’s mustache.

Trying to distract myself with other thoughts so I don’t think of the two missing pieces of my cat puzzle I tried to finish😔

[theoreticalwitchcraft]

i cannot believe not one single editor of this litfic novel managed to think through the consequences on pacing & character voice of not only having extremely close themes shared between the three separate povs but also of having extremely similar story beats happen in adjacent chapters in the novel.

[ournameisfun]

Writing down cutscene ideas for Amaryll as a companion like wow I can't wait to share this to like 4 people max bc the idea of openly sharing OC lore on tumblr gives me hives

[heresathreebee]

Soooo cuuute! 🥺 I WOULDA WHOOPED DUSTIN'S ASS REGARDLESS 🤣🤣

Head Over Heels / Code Lime Green (Eddie Munson x F!Reader)

Summary: Dustin’s code red — the one that disrupted your perfectly good night — turned out to be a false alarm. But maybe racing across town wasn’t so bad after all.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: curse words, self indulgent fluff

(Note: this fic does not follow any timeline that is canonically possible.)

I do not consent to my work being uploaded on any other platforms, translated, nor copied.

A/N: I’m 90% sure this trope has been written before, if not already overdone. But I wanted to try my hand at fluff, so I hope that’s okay ;)

Wether it be through comments, shares, asks, or anything, all feedback is appreciated!

check out my masterlist!

You ran through the halls, your shoes screeching loudly on the grimy tiles that were usually being trampled on by you and your classmates.

Except now the school was eerily quiet, only your laboring breaths disrupting the silence.

Ignoring the snarls from teachers who stayed after hours and cutting every corner, you finally burst into the drama room, exactly where Dustin told you to meet him. He was incredibly specific, his voice urgent and blaring from the walkie he had given you last summer:

“CODE RED. I repeat, CODE RED! Meet me in the drama room NOW.”

A rush of cold flooded your veins at the message. You grabbed the device and you were in your car not a minute later. You sped down the streets like a madman - running stop signs and steering so erratically that you almost hit a squirrel.

As Dustin’s frantic words echoed in your mind, the most horrific scenarios conjured:

Is there another gate open?

Have any monsters gotten into the school?

Is Will okay?

You held your breath as if it were your last the entire way to the drama room.

Now, exactly where Dustin needed you, you find that there is. . . absolutely nothing wrong.

No danger. No demogorgons. No commotion.

It was just the Hellfire Club.

Actually, it was just two members of the Hellfire Club: Dustin and Eddie, folding DnD game boards and collecting stray figurines.

What the hell is going on?

An unworried, completely normal Dustin looks at you and smiles. It’s the same smile he wore when he finally beat Max’s score in Frogger. The expression quickly devolves into something more confused, however.

“Why are you breathing so hard?” he asks.

“You. . . You said ‘code red.’”

“Yeah? So?”

You throw your hands up with a dry laugh. “Have I gone mental? Code red is worst case scenario. Just last week you were complaining that I’m always late to code reds and to rush.”

He tsks. “Yeah, because you are always late. But now you’re here, right on time, and I need a ride home.”

You gape at him, your fists clenched so tightly you think you might break your fingers.

“. . .Your code red was needing a ride home from Hellfire?”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “Yeah.”

Eddie - a presence you had completely forgot about until this moment - snickers from the corner. Your gaze shoots to him, eyes filled with rage daring him to laugh again. He puts his hands up in a surrender and quickly ducks his head.

He hopes you didn’t see him blush.

“Dustin,” you continue with a sigh, “that’s, like, a code, I don’t know. Lime green or something.”

“That’s not a thing. Lime green means nothing.”

“You are deliberately missing the point here.” You groan. “Why couldn’t Eddie have taken you home?”

Holy shit.

You know his name.

You didn’t call him “freak” or anything, either. You called him by his name.

And, damn, did it sound good from your lips.

As you continued fighting with Dustin, Eddie watches, somewhat entertained but mostly freaking the fuck out because you’re in the drama room after a Hellfire session.

Embarrassingly, Eddie has imagined this scene often. You, coming to Hellfire. Maybe to go on a date or just to see him.

He’s imagined a lot of things, admittedly. You drinking coffee he made for you, you in his arms as you watch a movie together, you next to him in the school cafeteria.

You laughing at one of his jokes. You kissing him. Even you simply standing next to him.

You, you, you.

A few short weeks ago, as he watched you through not-so-discrete glances in English class, biting your lips in concentration as you took notes, Eddie decided he’s had enough of imagining.

He decided that he was going to talk to you, ask you out, and hopefully go on a date with you. If you don’t burst into laughter the second he starts asking, that is.

Either way, the girl of his dreams or the worst heartbreak known to man, he vowed to talk to you.

The first time he tried went very poorly.

He waltzed up to your locker, an entire speech prepared.

But he’s pretty sure he just ended up staring at you for three minutes straight.

“What?” You asked, looking confused and a bit terrified.

Eddie realized that he came over, leaned on the locker next to your’s, and did nothing.

Absolutely

fucking

nothing.

“Shit,” he blurted. You jumped. He hated himself. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to— um.”

As you looked up at him expectantly, realization crashed over him like a tidal wave.

You were too good. Too sweet, too beautiful, too kind.

And Eddie was Eddie. The Freak of the school. The Cult Leader. The Outcast.

You, a gentle wind carrying fallen leaves and stars through the sky, could only ever be a dream.

“I just wanted to know if you had notes I could borrow from last period?” he asked.

You frowned and turned to rummage in your locker. You handed him a page from your notebook. He took it and practically ran.

When he got home that night, to a trailer that would never smell like you or be warmed with you or echo with your laughter, he couldn’t do anything but sulk.

Wayne got over that very quickly.

“Son,” he said, “if this girl has you wrapped around her finger this tight already, then there’s no harm in tellin’ her how you feel.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“But what if she does?”

It was two weeks after that endeavor that he saw you again, your nose in a book and your eyes lighting up and your smile making his heart ache.

He thought of his vow and Wayne’s words and you — always you. And he was again resolved that he would talk to you. He just needed a little help.

He almost thought that he would never hear the end of it after he asked Dustin about you during lunch.

“How do you, Dustin Henderson, the boy who wears Weird Al t-shirts and thinks it’s cool, know her?”

“Weird Al is cool, and she used to be my babysitter.”

Gareth was the first to joke: “You wish she was your babysitter, huh?”

Then Jeff: “He wishes she was his anything.”

“Very clever,” Eddie said.

“The rebel and the babysitter,” Gareth joked, again. “You guys could be a John Hughes movie.”

Wheeler tried to have his fun, but Eddie promptly cut that off, “Shut up!”

But he thinks all of that may have been worth it because shit, you know his name.

Dustin was eager to help Eddie get to this point. To you. (“She’ll be yours in no time, Eddie. Just let me pull a few strings.”

“Okay, well. That makes it sound like you’re going to kidnap her.”

“If that’s what it comes to.”

“Ah. How comforting.”)

And you’re here, just like Dustin promised and how Eddie imagined. Dreamt. Fantasized.

The kid actually did it.

Eddie is definitely getting him a new D20 die for this.

Dustin shakes his head in disbelief. “You are especially grumpy tonight.”

“I am not.”

“Eddie, don’t you think she’s being grumpy?”

Dustin looks to him expectantly, his eyes widening as if to say, “Here’s your chance, man. I’m serving it to you on a silver platter. Take it!”

Take it!, Eddie thinks, nodding. Take it! What are you waiting for?

“I-I think the lady is being very reasonable,” he blurts, his voice shaking in and out of an embarrassingly terrible British accent.

He can’t believe he opened his mouth at all.

Why did he just say ‘the lady?’ Why did he put on an accent? Why did he think he was prepared for this? Why—

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say. “See? He gets it.”

A better question, he realizes, is why hasn’t he mustered the guts to speak to you before?

He’s opening his mouth again, bolder with your receptiveness, and he doesn’t know what comes over him when he says, much shakier than he intended, “Your pajamas are cute.”

You freeze, eyes boring into his. Your angry expression softens as you become flustered. Your lips twitch into a smile, your cheeks flush.

“O-Oh.” You look down at your outfit - your baggiest pants on with ‘Tears for Fears’ plastered across them. “Ha. Thanks.”

“I love them.”

“You do?”

No, Eddie does not love Tears for Fears. But he thinks he might be in love with you, so he will buy their album on his way home and try to love Tears for Fears.

“Hell yeah,” he lies, for now. “They rock.”

You smile and Eddie thinks his knees might give out.

You have gone over this moment a million times in your mind. How you would greet Eddie, talk to him, laugh at every one of his jokes. In your wildest dreams he would get down on one knee the minute you smiled at him, but that seemed a bit hasty.

Point is, you had this moment all planned out since your big fat crush on him started. Right down to the little details.

Clearly, as you stumble over every word and wring your fingers together, your planning was no use whatsoever.

“How was the, um, campaign?” You ask, so timid that you bite your tongue after in shame.

But he smiles so wide that his eyes crinkle and his dimples show, and suddenly you don’t think this is going too poorly.

“Really great,” he answers. “Better now,” he adds, and he wants to die because of it until you giggle at the corniness and now he wants to live just to make it happen again.

Dustin, on the other hand, wants to hurl.

“Okay,” Dustin interjects. “I’m glad my plan is going well, but I have a curfew and my mom will be irate if I don’t get home soon.”

“Plan? What plan—”

“Okay, let’s go!” Eddie jumps over a chair to get to you and ushers you out of the door. “Wouldn’t want Dustin to suffer the wrath of his mother. Or mine, really,” he muttered.

All of your questions fade away as Eddie’s hand rests on your lower back, guiding you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you to your car?” he says.

You nod. You try not to seem too disappointed when his hand falls from you.

You ask, “How’s your band coming along?”

“You know about Corroded Coffin?”

You giggle, again. “Of course I do. You guys rock as harder than Tears for Fears.”

Eddie can feel his heart beat all over his body.

“It’s going, um, fine. We only play for a few drunks, but it’s something.” His hands start trembling. “You should come see us, if you haven’t already. Tuesdays at—”

“At the Hideout,” you finish for him.

He huffs something akin to a laugh. He pushes open the door at the end of the hallway and you step outside.

“Make yourself known next time you come,” he says. “It would be nice to know there’s a pretty girl in the crowd cheering us on.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed. You smile at him, unable to form words much less string together a sentence.

He smiles widely back at you. You can feel his warmth from how close you’re standing. You can feel the toe of his shoe pressed to yours. You can hear the hitch in his breath and see the determination in his eyes.

He’s is about to say something when Dustin interjects,

“This is taking way longer than I thought it would. Can we please—”

“Dustin,” you bite, strident, cold, and suddenly sobered from your lovesick haze. “Remember that campaign when I Iured a demogorgan out of your estate, nearly jeopardizing my character?”

“You can’t use that every time—”

“How about that one when I fought evil Russians?”

“I don’t see the relevance of either of those—”

“Or when you made me race down here from the other side of town to give you a stupid ride?”

“Okay! Okay! I’m going. Jeez.”

“Henderson.” Eddie stops him. “You put evil Russians in a campaign?”

Dustin glares at you. “Yeah.” He lies through barred teeth.

You smirk, your skin heating with your smugness. Or maybe it’s because you can feel Eddie’s breath on your cheeks as he speaks.

“I thought I taught you better than that, young warrior.”

“I—”

“The car!” You urge.

“Fine!”

“More importantly,” Eddie continues, eyes flitting from Dustin’s retreating figure to you, “you play DnD?”

“I used to, but they don’t let me anymore.” You snort. “They didn’t love having to hold my hand through every step of the game, you know?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’d hold your hand every step of the way.”

You freeze, staring at him wide eyed. He stares back equally surprised at his words.

He knew he would say something to fuck this up eventually. That was too over the line.

He stands in front of you motionless, all of the blood drained from his face. This might be more embarrassing than any moment he’s had tonight, but he just can’t think. Especially not with you looking at him like you are.

“I should probably get home, too,” you say eventually. You stand there for a few moments, hoping he might say something else. When he doesn’t, you bid, “Well, goodnight, Eddie.”

There his name is again, making his stomach flutter and all the courage he has swell in his chest.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” The question escapes lips almost breathlessly as you’re turning away.

Your steps falter. Your breath catches in your throat.

“What?”

“I. . . Christ.” He laughs uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I want to take you out on a date.”

Eddie feels like he can breathe with the question off his chest. Now it’s all up to if you’re going to hate his guts after this or the impossible — you liking him back.

You smile, you actually fucking smile, and ask, “Do you actually want to take me out on a date or do you still claim Tears for Fears rocks?”

With a small groan, he drags his hands down his face. “Saw through that, did you?”

“Like glass.”

He shakes his head disparagingly and, with another breath of courage, steps closer to you. “I can dig Tears for Fears.”

“You can?”

“Sweetheart, I’d listen to nails on a chalkboard if it meant you’d give me a chance.”

He’s once again so close that if you leaned in just slightly, you could press your lips to his. You could pull him in by the collar and taste him. Feel him. Have him feel you.

But instead, you kiss him on the cheek. “Have their album memorized by Friday and I’ll consider it,” you say, sarcasm coating your words like honey.

He chuckles, a boyish delight bright in his eyes.

As you turn on your heel and walk toward your car, you hear him call, “I’ll pick you up Friday at 7!”

“6!” You call back as you climb behind the wheel. Dustin lets out a small, “Finally.”

Dustin is almost bouncing in the passenger seat when he asks, “Did he ask you out?”

A strangled sound of surprise escapes your lips. “Why would you ask that?”

“That was the whole reason I called you down here.”

A beat.

Then, “Your code red was Eddie?”

“Seriously, do I have to connect all of the dots for you?”

He rolls his eyes as you continue to stare at him, utterly perplexed.

“Eddie has had a crush on you since forever but he never had the guts to talk to you. Thus, my genius plan to get you to come to the drama room. Thus, your date.” He sighs. “Must I continue?”

You let his words sink in, your breaths shallow and your teeth worrying your bottom lip.

Holy shit.

“I’m like Cupid,” he says cheerily.

“I don’t think Cupid ever reveals his master plan, Dustin.” You laugh. “He also doesn’t make me run around school when I could be home watching TV.”

“Well, he just got you a date, which is much better than any Family Ties rerun.”

Eddie waves at you as you drive out of the parking lot, a smile brighter than the moon igniting one of your own.

“Yeah,” you say dreamily. “I guess so.”

You are so getting Dustin a milkshake on the way home.

Eddie Munson taglist: @chickpeadumpsterfire @luvslogan (having a taglist is insane!! I feel so cool. Thank you for reading 💗!)

[autism-corner]

=w=

[cookie-de-baunilha]

just finished writing the introduction to my lord john grey big ass meta and it’s over 1200 words 🫢

and that’s the introduction alone mind you, I can’t even think about how long is going to take me to write all 4 (yes, four) parts of the analysis jeez

but let’s goooo